Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“You can't—that's not—Melissa, you don't understand. They're—”
“I don't care.” I cut her off. “I don’t know what shit you’re hiding, and when we get out of here I’m going to ride your ass about it, but right now, we need to get out, whether that means we go through them to get there or not.”
“They are untouchable,” she whispers, ever the pessimist.
“Bullshit.” I flash my teeth, working on the restraints again. “No one is that untouchable. Everyone bleeds. Everyone dies. We need to figure out how to make them do both.”
She glares. “You sound insane.”
“Maybe I am.” The adrenaline's kicking in now. Pushing back the pain. “But I'm also a mother. And I will burn down the entire fucking world to get back to her. I did not just go through what I did for it to be all over now.”
My shoulders sag as I blow out a breath. Deep down, I know I can’t break these restraints. The reality of it loosens all tension in my muscles.
“When we get out—” Millie starts.
“When we get out,” I snap, turning to her. “you're telling me everything.”
“Okay.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
Then footsteps echo from somewhere above us. Heavy. Multiple sets.
We both freeze.
The footsteps get closer. Louder. Coming down stairs I can't see.
They're coming back.
I meet Millie's eyes across the space between us. See my own fear reflected there.
The footsteps stop. A door opens somewhere beyond my line of sight.
I hold my breath.
Four figures emerge from the shadows.
Masks cover their faces, all with some type of skull re-imagination made from steel. One looks bone white, with black smudges over the eyes, another the colour of tarnished metal, ripped from the side. They move with military precision. Practiced. Coordinated. Not a wasted motion between them.
Professional.
One moves to the front, his rusted reddish-brown mask eaten away by decay. Three deep diagonal slashes across his face like claw marks. More barbed wire than the others, wound tighter and more carefully. Dents circle the eye holes from the inside.
He tilts his head. “Well, well.” His voice is light. Almost playful. “Look what we caught.”
I flash my teeth. “Let me guess. You’re the leader of One Direction?”
He barks out a laugh loud enough to make my ears bleed, and my snarl slips a little. Creepy weirdo. The other three fan out through the room somewhere, but all within eye-shot.
“You know what's funny?” He crouches down so we're eye level. “You weren't even supposed to be here. Wrong place. Wrong time.” He shakes his head in mock sympathy. “That's gotta sting.”
I don't respond. People like him only find your words amusing. They’re fucking emotional vampires, sucking you dry while you do all the work.
“But hey.” He stands back up. “I tried to argue that I wanted a spare toy, but apparently, I can't keep you.” He glances at Millie. “We only get one to share.”
“Fuck you.” The words scrape out of my throat, making me hesitate. What does he mean by he can't keep me? The question burns through my head, but I shove it down.
“I thought you were the all powerful Triple Zero?” I mock, that smirk back on my face.
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound rolls out of him, genuine and unhinged, and I realize I've just become his favourite new plaything.
“Oh, I like you.” He turns to his companions, and something shifts in his expression—ownership bleeding through amusement. “She's got fire.”
I don't know why, but when his eyes drift over my shoulder and Millie's face drains of colour, the air changes. Thickens. The hairs on my arms stand up, and my body knows what my brain won't admit—something worse than him just walked in. Something that has Mother Nature fucking bend.
His footsteps sync with the hammering in my chest, and when his massive frame comes around the corner, the one in the reddish mask melts back into darkness where the others wait.
My mouth goes bone-dry. He pivots toward me—deliberate, unhurried. Every degree of his turn makes my pulse spike harder. They're all built huge, but this one... Jesus Christ. This one shouldn't exist. He's wrong in every dimension, too much of everything—height, width, the sheer space he steals from the world just by standing in it.
Steel stares back at me, industrial-looking. The numbers zero, zero, zero are scratched messily across the forehead, and the entire corner of his cheek is ripped away, exposing a deathly sharp jawline and cheekbones that could be weaponized.
Triple Zero is a person, not an organization. Everything stops. Time. Breathing. Millie’s sobs. My fucking optimism that we’re getting out of here.
I try to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.
He doesn’t speak, just moves, and when he’s so close I can see the blue flecks in his eyes, smell the sharp cologne on his skin, the glint of a needle catches my attention.